


Set fire to the night

by grammartian



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cannibalism, Divine entity AU, Experimental Style, Gore, M/M, POV Second Person, Ritualistic Murder, Torture, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10052591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grammartian/pseuds/grammartian
Summary: There is a boy that haunts your dreams. He is so beautiful, otherworldly, has to be a divine being. That is why you listen to everything he says.He gives you faces of people, bad people, done very bad things, and you know what you must do.I promise the tags make sense in context.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SheerahChi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheerahChi/gifts).



> I started this at around 3 am, passed out at 4, then continued at 8, and finished it around 11. This has to be the fastest non-drabble I've written in my life. And I didn't even have to edit it much.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

There is a boy that haunts your dreams. Hair deeper than the night sky, eyes bluer the ocean, skin brighter than the moon. He is so beautiful, otherworldly, has to be a divine being. That is why you listen to everything he says.

He gives you faces of people, bad people, done very bad things, and you know what you must do.

Your knife makes quick work of them and later when you dream the boy smiles at you and touches your face and you’ve never felt happier than in that moment.

You hear about it on the news, radio, read it in the newspaper. The boy has never lied to you, the media always cites the same crime as he, and you never feel guilt.

You haven't doubted him, ever, a being so perfect cannot possibly lie to you.

One reporter dubs you the Angel of justice and it sticks. You scoff at the paper as you drink your morning coffee. The boy says nothing about your monicker, instead lightly touches your face and whispers to you the name and face of the next evil to purge from the world.

He calls them _daemons_ , and you see their faces for what they truly are, black, distorted by the evil of their deeds, eyes glowing yellow; their blood runs black off your blade.

 

\- - -

 

One day the boy whispers no name but a location and a time. Your heart beats faster the closer you are, but you must not speed. You need to be there at the exact time.

You pull into the side of the road, near a cliff, the full moon in the sky, a path of moonlight across the ocean waves under it.

You walk to the edge, soft breeze ruffling your hair. You stop, close your eyes, breathe in, breathe out, and when you open your eyes again, he is standing next to you. The boy is even more beautiful than in your dreams, so beautiful you forget how to breathe. His lips brush against yours and you taste oxygen again.

He tells you what a good job you've done, kisses you again and again and you are too clouded by his whole presence to hear any more words. Somehow, you know he knows, and he isn't telling you anything important.

He pulls away, says he loves you, but you must part. He promises you your dreams and that soon you shall meet again, but first you must do more for him. You say you will do anything for him and he laughs, the most wonderful sound you've heard in your life. He knows you will.

You blink and he is gone, but you swear you see him walking on the moonpath.

 

\- - -

 

You know your boy watches over you, as you read in the papers about the Angel case failing again and again: key evidence disappearing, important people dying in accidents, possible witnesses going missing. Of course he'll watch over you, he loves you. You love him more than you think possible. He knows you do.

 

\- - -

 

The second time you see him, at the cliff again under the moon, he is as breath-taking as the first. He kisses you again, mutters against your lips and this time you make out words in a language you cannot even hope to understand, sending cool ripples down your spine.

He stays longer this time, you smell the stardust in his hair. He loves you much, but he must go. He promises your dreams and disappears when you blink. You look not at the moonpath, but the stars.

 

\- - -

 

You start to forget how many people you've killed. They aren't people, you correct yourself, and don't worry.

You make a wrong cut and blood sprays your face. You frown as you take your glasses off to clean them, then get back to work. Your boy has been showing you symbols, things to carve into the daemons' flesh. They are etched behind your eyelids until you do, but you wouldn't even think of not doing it.

The daemon beneath you tries to break away again, but you simply continue your work, careful with the lines you carve into them. Finally you are done and you sink your blade into their heart, ending another wicked soul.

Your boy told you you are purging the world of evil, and in doing so also the soul of the evil they possessed.

 

\- - -

 

You don't forget to count how many times you meet him, you can't forget a single moment.

It is the sixth time you see him at the cliffside when the clouds unexpectedly hide the full moon and for the short moment your eyes are open in between kisses, his eyes glow bright red, like fire raging behind them, and black smoke creeps up his face. He hushes you, tells you to close your eyes again, kisses you softly and you settle down.

He lets you touch him now, the fabric covering his skin almost as soft and warm as him. You do nothing more than hold his body, don't even think of doing more. He will tell you what to do, when the time comes.

 

\- - -

 

The press and police are both vexed at the symbols you carve, each more complex than the last, and you read theories about there being two of you. You chuckle and put the article away with the rest. You are the only one chosen, and the only one loved, by the boy in your dreams. You know that.

 

\- - -

 

It is the ninth full moon when he tells you to wait at home. Your very core shakes with anticipation as you wait in the dark, the moon your only source of light, and then you blink and he is there, and you shake no more when he takes you into his arms.

You made the preparations he's asked of you, the body on the table still struggling against the restraints. He'd told you that they have not yet committed anything, still innocent, but they will, although your mission tonight is not to purge.

He kisses you, mouth, jaw, jugular, then hands you something cold. You observe the blade in your hand, a dagger looking like no other, reflecting the moonlight dancing through the window. It sits comfortably in your hand, as if made for it, and it whispers to you to be used.

He leads you to the not-yet-sinner, stands next to you and holds your hand on the dagger as you carve them up together. He softly speaks in that language that sends shivers down your spine and the soul on your table lays still, eyes wide open and reflecting the moonlight, breath slow and calm.

He turns you around as he grips your hand harder and sinks the blade into their heart as he kisses you breathless. Their dying gasp doesn't reach your ears as you both let go of the dagger at the same time and your hands are on each other.

He is gone with the moonlight, or at least so you think when you wake in the morning, alone in your bed.

 

\- - -

 

When it is the full moon he starts meeting you at your home, and you cannot be more delighted. Your apartment is always impeccable but you take extra care now, even if he assures you in your dreams it is as perfect as you.

He wants you to purge more than ever but you do not struggle to keep up. The people you kill alone are already guilty, and the papers speculate on how you know, going through inside information leaks, bribes, theories that you are a man of the law. Nobody knows you are doing the work of a god. You and he alone know.

The people you kill together are not yet guilty of any crime, but you trust him, you know he would never lie to you.

 

\- - -

 

On the thirteenth moon he hands you no dagger. He whispers you are ready and you are not quite sure for what, but you trust him.

He leads you to the body on the table and takes your finger, trails it over their skin to draw his symbols and in your finger's wake their flesh burns and they would scream had you not severed their vocal cords. You watch in awe as your boy paints the still innocent with his magic, and you are his brush.

Finally, he places your hand on their chest and presses down and you gasp as your fingers sink down. You push past skin and muscle and bone and finally you grasp their still beating heart. He has let go of your hand but you know you must take it out, wrapping your fingers firmly and pulling. It comes out as easy as breathing and you marvel at the life-giving organ in your hand as its owner goes still forever.

He places his hand on yours, moves closer, raises it up to your lips and his and you take a bite of the heart the same time he does. You expected... you do not know what you expected, but it tastes like nothing else you've eaten before and you devour it together, your lips meeting in the middle, mouths full of sweet blood and strings of meat.

Morning finds you alone in bed like always and you find no body in the kitchen. You would wonder if it weren't a dream if you didn't still feel the blood on your tongue and the meat between your teeth.

 

\- - -

 

The media is in uproar. The Angel now doesn't use knives but some way of burning his victims, and then rips their hearts out in a way they cannot identify. The hearts are never found.

The only reason they think it's still the Angel is that the symbols are consistent with his previous work, and his hand just as steady.

Some suggest they change his nickname to the Devil, but Angel has stuck so far. And, to you, it is far more fitting.

You smile as you watch the panic on TV and sip your bitter coffee.

 

\- - -

 

It has been eighteen full moons since you have met, five since the first heart you devoured, and he takes your face into his hands after the newest one, blood still dripping off your lips.

His eyes glow red, fire raging behind them, but this time you feel not even the flicker of fear, and he smiles and tells you to look at yourself. You look to the side, the glass cupboard reflecting you perfectly in the moonlight, covered in black blood, eyes glowing yellow behind your glasses, but it is not the color as the daemons you smite, it is like sunlight seeping through honey and you startle to see your boy's reflection, black in the light but not from blood, light black smoke seeping over his body, eyes burning bright.

Realisation dawns on you. The blackness you see, the yellow eyes of the souls you must purge, they are not their real faces, they show you they were chosen by your boy, by your god, whose hands are still on your neck and you know they can snap but trust them not to.

He asks you what you see and you turn to him again, his face pale and beautiful, eyes deep as the ocean, and you whisper that you see divinity. He kisses you again, and again, his love so powerful you feel like it sets your skin on fire.

In the morning you are alone, safe for the promise of _Soon, my love._

 

\- - -

 

On the twentieth moon he does not come. He didn't say anything last night, but you feel like you still have to do the ritual. He whispered no name into your ear, but you know that the body on the table had not yet sinned.

You draw the symbols on their body, your finger moves as if on its own, your lips form words you have heard but never thought you could sound out. Finally you sink your hand into their chest, pull out their blood-hot heart and bring it to your lips.

When all of it is gone and you lick the blood from your fingers, he whispers into your ear that you did well, but when you turn he is not there.

You go to bed and wake alone. The body in the kitchen is gone like always.

 

\- - -

 

Your boy doesn't visit you in your dreams, not since that full moon. You barely contain the sadness and loneliness, but go about your day as usual.

You still see the daemons of the world, follow them silently and kill them with your hands, the process now as natural as breathing. You do not eat their hearts, know you must only eat still innocent ones.

The absence of your god is painful, and lasts for three more moons, but you follow your instincts and do not relent. You know he would not abandon you. He loves you too much.

 

\- - -

 

On the twenty-fourth moon you have a feeling things are going to change. The innocent you see picked, enveloped in a red-hot fire that does not burn them nor you, is young. He is shorter than you, his skin pale like the moon, hair dark like the night, and eyes painfully blue.

You are gentler as you tie him up, whisper soothingly in the unknown tongue and he shuts up. You know you must not hurt him safe for the end, but still you drag your finger across his skin. It does not burn but thin wisps of steam rise from his flesh and light red marks follow your finger's wake.

When the symbols are done, you place your hand on his chest, in his chest, and hold his heart. You do not rip it out, but pull it slowly, gently, careful not to damage the rest of him. You eat the organ and all the others before it pale in comparison. You feel tempted to rip him up and eat the rest of him, surely the rest of his flesh will be just as sweet-

But you know you must not do that, and take a step back.

The hole in his chest slowly closes. Your blood drums in your ears as you untie his arms and feet before he takes a breath and opens his eyes. He sits up and he is your god, even more beautiful than you've ever seen him.

You gasp, reach out to him and he smiles and thanks you for waiting. You move closer and he pulls you down for a kiss, and you never thought his kisses could be better or hotter but they are, and his own blood tastes even sweeter on your tongue.

He pulls away and whispers that there is one more thing you must do, together, and then you will be free again. You look at him, unspoken questions staying in your throat, and he rises from the table and gestures for you to lay on it.

You do so. You trust him. He knows you do.

He speaks in that language you thought you could never understand but now feel like you can make out words, the feeling like an itch you can't quite scratch, almost there but still unreachable. He trails his fingers across your body, draws symbols you haven't seen before and they feel hot on your skin, but do not hurt you.

He finally places his hand on your chest, his eyes meeting yours. You nod at him, understanding, and his hand reaches inside, past skin, muscles, ribs and wraps around your heart. It hurts far less than you expected, but still hurts nonetheless and you black out when he starts to pull it out.

When you come back to life again you feel... Yourself. You feel like yourself again, for the first time in a very long time. You never even knew you weren't yourself until now.

You sit up and _Noctis_ smiles at you expectantly. You call his name and he all but knocks you back down onto the table, hugging you close, and you feel hot tears against your skin. It takes you a moment to realise they are both yours and his, and your hands are around him again, you hold him again, finally, after eons of searching for each other, you are in each other's arms again.

 _Ignis,_  he calls you and you know that is the right name, and all you can say is call him back before his lips are on yours again, your tears of happiness mingling together.

You kiss his tears away, he does the same for you, your face hurts from smiling so much.

Now that you are together at last, you know nothing and nobody will stand between you again, and nothing can stop you from watching the world burn under your fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques are more than welcome!
> 
> You can find me on twitter @grammarty, though be warned, I spam a lot.


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